If We Could Escape The Crowd Somehow
by Melissa Alexander
Summary: Jonsa Smut Week 2017, Day Four: Drunken Antics or Fantasies - Modern AU - After being saved from a grabby creep on the dance floor, Sansa gives in to her drunken impulse and seduces her handsome rescuer ...dragging him off to the ladies room.


**If We Could Escape The Crowd Somehow**

 **Jonsa Smut Week 2017**

 **Day 4: Drunken Antics or Fantasies (in this case -mine!)**

"If I said my heart was beating loud,

 _If we could escape the crowd somehow ..._

If I said I want your body now,

Would you hold it against me?" - Hold It Against Me, Britney Spears

* * *

Sansa twisted around the dance floor, her body gyrating to the heady beat reverberating off of the surrounding brick walls. The club was packed, the music blaring so that the heavy boom of the bass shook the floor under her feet, vibrating up the length of her legs in an oddly erotic way. She lived for this -the flicker of the lights overhead, flying limbs colliding in the tight space, the surreal way the music seemed to pulse into her body.

She pushed her hands up into her sweat slicked hair, lifting it up off the back of her neck, and scanned the crowd for Margaery. They'd managed to get separated again — _or rather_ , Robb had whisked her away by the looks of it. She spied them a few feet away, grinding against each other, their lips fused together while they tried to eat off each other's faces. Theon was still at the bar, shamelessly flirting with anything with two legs and a pair of breasts —not that she blamed him, she didn't like being a third wheel either.

Sansa spun around, evading yet another pair of grabby hands —as if dancing alone was an open invitation to grope her. She may be a tiny bit drunk —just tipsy really, but she certainly wasn't desperate.

"What's your name gorgeous?" The groper asked, his voice just barely carrying over the din.

Sansa pretended not to hear him, keeping in step with the music, she spun her body around in the opposite direction. Feigning ignorance was phase one —initiated and executed flawlessly, hopefully she wouldn't have to employ phase two.

The deejay scratched at the turntables, the next song blending seamlessly as Sansa pushed her persistently hiking mini skirt back down her thighs. Perhaps _not_ the best choice of dress, but Marg insisted " _if ya got it, flaunt it_ ", and if she had one advantage to her awkward towering height, it was that she had legs for days —that, and it was always fucking sweltering in here.

Throwing her arms high in the air, Sansa sashayed her hips around in a semi-circle, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at Mr. McGrabby who hadn't taken the hint after all. "Can I buy you a drink?" He leaned closer to bark in her ear.

Sansa wrinkled her nose —from the smell of it, he'd had more than enough already. "No thanks," she called back; phase two: the polite decline. He was handsome —tall, athletic build with blonde hair, blue eyes and more than likely the typical douchebag personality that usually went along with it. Sansa wasn't interested —she'd shelved her shallow phase long ago.

She took a few steps backwards, intent on working her way closer to her brother and Margaery —in case she had to employ the third and final phase. She'd barely taken two steps when Hands McGee snatched her wrist and jerked her up against him, grinding his hips against her leg like a horny dog —a failing attempt at a suave dance move, _maybe?_ The operative word being 'failing'.

"Come on Red, I'm a nice guy, I promise," he persisted, even while his grabby hands began traveling south of her equator. In Sansa's opinion, nice guys usually didn't have to announce that they were in fact, nice.

"My name isn't Red, and I'm here with someone," she shook her head, shoving off his chest in an attempt to disengage from his unwanted embrace. Phase two point five: the _more_ firm polite decline.

"I don't see anyone."

"That's because he's at the bar." Sansa lied, peering over his shoulder, desperately trying to flag down Theon so he could rescue her, but he was too busy flirting up a busty brunette. _Damn him._

The Gropester craned his neck with Sansa's line of vision then threw back his head and laughed. "Seriously? If that's your boyfriend, then he's a fucking loser!"

 _Takes one to know one_ , Sansa thought dryly, gasping as another pair of hands suddenly snaked around her waist and tugged her from McGrabby's arms. "Here's your water, darling." An unfamiliar voice tickled her ear. "Sorry I took so long."

Sansa tried to mask her shock, and play it off. "Told you," she mouthed at Grope the Chump, breathing a sigh of relief as she spun around to face her would-be savior, and accepted the bottle of water he offered. He stood nearly a head and a half shorter than her, with dark curls and even darker eyes. A bit overdressed for a night club in a crisp white button down dress shirt and black slacks —in fact, he looked pretty out of place, but he was kind of cute in a dorky sort of way, and he _had_ rescued her after all.

"Thanks," Sansa bent down so he'd hear her over the loud music.

"Sure," he nodded. "Keep the water," he added, already turning to leave.

"Wait," Sansa reached to tangle her fingers in the sleeve of his white dress shirt. _Great —now she was the grabby groper._ "Dance with me?"

"I don't -I'm not really the best- _ahh_ , oh-okay," he stammered, as Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, her body already swaying to the primitive rhythm of the music thudding in her ears.

Yeah, he was a cutie, she decided, as he stumbled over his own two feet, trying desperately to keep up with her. His dorky awkwardness was actually quite a refreshing change to the oafs usually vying for her attention. Like a perfect gentleman, he kept his hands on her waist — _directly_ in the safe zone. The song changed again —one of her faves! Rolling her hips sensually to the beat, Sansa dropped the water bottle on the nearby railing, shimmied around until her backside was planted firmly against her new partner, and let the music take her away.

Grabbing his hands from the safe zone, Sansa wrapped them completely around her waist, smiling naughtily to herself as he stumbled against her. _Silly boy!_ Just what in the fuck had come over her, she hadn't the slightest clue. _Perhaps_ she really _was_ drunk? While she tried to muster some fucks to give, she decided to have a little fun with him, and pushed his hands down across her flat stomach, licking her lips as a delicious fluttering stirred within her.

 _Well_ , that was — _unexpected._

Down, down, she slid them farther, resting his palms on the tops of her thighs, as she popped back and rolled her hips suggestively against him, flinging a coy glance over her shoulder. The bass pounded, pulsing through her body like a sonic aphrodisiac, the strobe lights flashing above taking her back to that surreal primitive state of mind where she became one with the music —could feel it surging through her veins. As the tempo picked up, so did Sansa's hips — _faster and faster_ — to match the increased vigor of the music. She could feel him getting hard, his erection pressing against the soft swell of her ass only excited her more.

The lights spun in a frenzy overhead —disorienting and hypnotic, they flickered and burst in a fury of red and blue heat, sprinkling flecks of fire and ice against the pale ivory of her skin. Sansa tossed her arms up in the air, stretching —reaching high for their magic splendor, her body vibrating with the hum of the treble, she threw her head back onto her partner's shoulder, her stomach dropping like the bass when he dragged one of his hands back upwards and fisted the fabric of her lacy tank top. His moves had become less rigid —his hips now moving in perfect harmony with hers as she writhed against him.

 _He was a fast learner_ ... Sansa reached back around and behind his head, threading her fingers through the tangle of his black curls —his hair was smooth as silk, and she couldn't resist disheveling it. _Yeah_ , that made him like ninety-nine percent _hotter._

The music was a living thing —electric currents seeping into her sweat soaked skin, her erratic heartbeat pumping it through her veins. It sang through her blood like a drug —intoxicating, forbidden, _erotic_ ... pooling in her lower limbs with a raging heat. A slight tilt of her neck had her nose brushing against the scratchy stubble of his jaw —their lips now just scant inches apart, warm puffs of breath mingling.

Her hands still fisted in his hair, Sansa tentatively brushed her lips against his, unprepared for the spark of desire that shot through her body with a crippling force. Her knees buckled, but his hands were warm —firm, holding her against him. Sansa Stark did not do such things, _she was not that kind of girl_ , —except she suddenly _was_ , as a breathy moan crawled it's way up her throat and tumbled into his open mouth. He caught it with his tongue, and pushed it back between her lips, his own moan a resounding call to every primal instinct she possessed.

Tearing her lips away was almost painful, as Sansa wove their fingers together and gave him a tug, pulling him along as she paved the way through a sea of thrashing bodies. Shoving off the dance floor, she broke into a run, her heels clopping against the black tiles underfoot, echoing the thundering boom of the bass in her sudden impatience —a desperate bid to escape the crowd somehow. The prey had become predator, and she wanted him — _intended to have him._

His hand still clasped tightly with hers, Sansa felt the brush of his thumb against her knuckles, as she yanked him into the ladies restroom, and slammed the door behind them —breathing a sigh of relief that both stalls were empty, and they were _finally_ alone.

The music stalked them —seeping under the door and vibrating through the walls, the heavy beat swirled around them, pulsing in Sansa's ears and drowned out the sound of her erratic heartbeat. Like a switch had been flipped, he was upon her, backing Sansa against the wall with a sudden urgency to rival her own, as his hand flicked the bathroom lock into place. His mouth was hot, burning a fiery path against her skin as he kissed along her jaw, behind her ear —his hand sliding the strap of her tank top down so he could nibble at the sensitive skin stretched taught over her collarbone.

His breath rasped against her heated flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "I would know your name, sweet girl."

"Sansa," she answered, her reply nothing short of a grunt, as she jerked his shirt out from where it was neatly tucked into his pants. Her hands shook as she fumbled with his belt buckle, finally working it free with clumsy persistence. His skin was hot, as she pushed her hands up under the untucked tails of his shirt to explore the smooth expanse of his chest. Corded muscles, taught with tempered desire bunched beneath her touch —Sansa had _not_ expected that.

"Sansa," her name on his lips was like a sensual caress as his hands spanned her waist, her hips, sliding behind her to cup the swell of her ass. And, he was strong — _so strong_ , as he lifted her into his arms as though she were weightless, pressing her into the wall at her back.

The bricks scraped against the skin of her bare shoulders, but Sansa didn't care. Everything throbbed, as he ground his hips against hers —the delicious sensation so staggeringly intense, she thought she might weep with wanting him so badly. _What in God's name had come over her?_

"Who are you?" Awed, Sansa murmured against the urgent pressure of his lips as he kissed her again. Gone was the shy, awkward, slightly nerdy guy from the dance floor —the man who kissed her now was confident and assured, and _insanely_ fucking handsome with his hair all screwed up.

"Jon," his reply came with the heat of his gaze —grey eyes smoldering, burning into her, as he dragged her hands up the wall and pinned them high over her head. "I am Jon."

"Jon," Sansa gasped, testing the sound of his name on her lips, as he attacked the delicate skin of her throat again, his teeth nipping. Down, he dipped lower, his lips and tongue nuzzling in the valley between her breasts, as her chest heaved with excitement beneath his ministrations.

Jon's grip on her hands slackened, one hand pushing behind her ear to tangle in her hair as his greedy mouth closed over hers again —his kiss slowing to a more languid, sensual pace. Sansa whimpered against his lips, her tongue curling around his suggestively, she sucked it into her mouth, satisfied as a deep groan rumbled up his chest and spilled into her.

She slid down the length of him as he set her back onto the ground, her body humming, and the heat between her legs damn near unbearable. Sansa reached for his pants, jerking the button free, the zipper sliding on its own, his cock springing forth into her waiting hands. She fisted him, smoothing her hand down his silken length — _flesh made fire_ — smiling as he hissed his approval into her ear.

And then Jon's hand was up her skirt, tugging the thin lace of her panties aside, his fingers finding their mark, sliding up between her lips. They moaned in unison, Sansa trembling against him as he worked at her clit —his fingers making love to her body, his tongue making love to her mouth.

It didn't take long for her to peak against the pleasure of Jon's skillful touch. Her insides tightening with a delightful pull, Sansa arched her back against the wall, as her fingernails dug crescent moons in his forearms. She cried out her release, her greedy muscles sucking at his fingers as her orgasm washed over her with a frightening intensity.

Sansa slumped against him, the ache inside her barely quenched —growing steadily with the absence of Jon's fingers. Impatient, she pulled him closer, her fingers curling around the hard length of him, and nudged him against her opening —an incessant need to dull the maddening ache burning between her legs.

Jon hesitated, that adorable awkwardness creeping back into his demeanor. "I ...uhh, I don't have any protection. Sansa, I'm sor-"

Sansa pressed a slender finger against his lips, effectively silencing him. "I'm on the pill."

Relief flooding his features, Jon bent down and slipped his hands up under her skirt. His grey eyes were all mischief now, as he tugged her hips away from the wall and hooked his thumbs in her panties. He slid them down her legs with ease and pocketed them, hiking her skirt up with him as he stood.

"I'll be wanting those back," Sansa teased him, attempting to look stern.

His hands were on her ass again —palming and kneading at her flesh, a loud gasp escaping her, as Jon grabbed her leg and hooked it up over his hip. "Maybe," he grinned, thrusting fully into her.

Sansa cried out, her head falling back against the wall behind her, as Jon groaned and began to move. Slow, even strokes, sending ripples of pleasure skirting through her —he felt so incredibly good, and the element of naughtiness only intensified the pleasure. What would everyone think if they knew perfect little Sansa Stark was getting properly fucked against a public bathroom wall — _and_ by a stranger? _For shame!_

 _And yet_ , stranger or not, Jon was incredibly tender, his kiss, his touch —about as tender as one could be in this ...errr _situation_. Sansa curled her leg around his calf, in a desperate bid to be closer, pushing her hands back into his thick black hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp, as he kissed her passionately.

She felt the tightening in her muscles begin anew, another orgasm creeping up on her, as the slow heat in her stomach coiled and unfurled, and Jon hoisted her up in his arms again. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as his thrusts became frenzied, his hips seemingly moving in time with the boom of the bass blaring just outside the bathroom door.

 _Boom, boom, boom_ —the bass shook the wall, vibrating at her back, Sansa's heart slamming against her ribs in tune, as the tension building inside of her finally snapped. "I'm gonna come," she panted in Jon's ear, her tongue flicking against his lobe as she catapulted into an endless void of bright lights. They exploded behind her eyelids —a sea of fiery stars.

The bathroom erupted in a passionate symphony —their cries of release mingling in the tight space, bouncing off the walls and ringing in Sansa's ears. Her body was still humming as Jon set her gently on her feet, his chest heaving, beads of sweat glistening on his brow. Ever the gentleman, he tugged her skirt back down over her exposed thighs, as Sansa leaned heavily against the wall, waiting to catch her breath.

Jon ran a hand through his mussed up hair, and turned on the tap, letting the water run while he stuffed himself back into his pants, wincing from the hyper sensitivity. Sansa watched him in the mirror as she quickly put herself back together. _What if he thought she did this type of thing all the time?_

Embarrassment tinting her cheeks pink, Sansa hugged her arms to her chest, feeling the need to explain herself. "I uhhh ...I don't usually do this sort of thing." _Fuck, she was so lame. Why did she even care?_

 _Oh shit, did she —did she really like this guy?_

 _Yes._

Jon, wet his hands and pushed them through his hair, his grey eyes regarding her through the reflection of the mirror. "That makes two of us," he grabbed a paper towel and ran it under the water, then turned to hand it to her, and Sansa blushed again —knowing _exactly_ what he'd intended it for. "You won't hold it against me, will you?"

"No," Sansa smiled, accepting the paper towel. She was grateful when he turned his back to adjust his clothing so she could wash up with a modicum of privacy, while she mulled over how to ask out the guy she'd just seduced on the dance floor ...

"I uh ...I think you requested I return these?" Jon pulled her bunched up panties from her pocket and held them out to her.

For all her brashness tonight, Sansa's cheeks flamed a bright red, shyness overcoming her as she reached for them.

"On second thought," he snapped them back before her hand closed around them. "How rude of me to return them to you in this state. I really should have them laundered first. Do you know of a good place?"

 _Smooth_. "Suds on Fourth street," Sansa smiled, reaching to unlock the door. "Tuesday night, six-ish?"

Jon reached around her, pushing the door shut again, cutting off her hasty exit. "Eight-ish," he countered, leaning to press a soft kiss to her cheek. "Bring your appetite and wear something nice."


End file.
